


Mouths Full Of Sugar

by hellhoundsprey



Series: fullofsugar!verse [9]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Consensual Underage Sex, Crossdressing, First Time, Genderfluid Jared, Jealous Jensen, Lolita Jared, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sex Toys, Teacher Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Jensen is conflicted. Jared isn't.





	Mouths Full Of Sugar

Jared doesn’t intend to cause pains. Jensen can’t bring himself to continue the sentence beginning with a ‘but’.

Jensen is torn over this child and the many results are his goddamn own fault.

Like bulk-buying ice cream and sweets and fish-shaped crackers will buy him out of sin.

Like using _this_ body part instead of _that one_ will make—as she said—any difference.

Pitiful, really, that the only times the coil of Jensen’s guts untangles is when he’s with him.

“Jensen.”

Soft mammal mouth, baby-furred.

Jensen thumb-rubs beginnings of a mustache.

Jensen hums a noise meant for approval despite the fact that Jared hasn’t posed his question yet. It never fails to make Jared smile. (Dimples to fit tips of fingers in.)

Jensen smiles back.

“I’m hungry.”

“Breakfast?”

“Uh-huh.”

Wife-kiss. “Gimme ten.”

~

The quiet moments are the worst. The ones where the world is spinning despite Jensen being stuck with himself.

Scrubbing boy-spunk out of girl-underwear. The bathroom is the bright-white kind of clean reserved for places guests will see.

Jensen’s brain supplies that if Zoe Letterman hadn’t gotten her hands on emergency contraception that one night, Jensen might have a kid two years older than Jared. Would have been cleaning Ninja Turtles shorts or Elsa panties for years now.

Jensen is getting good at this. The cleaning, that is.

~

Pavlov-training himself. Classic conditioning.

Jared, in school, just being another one of the many many students—it sends a rush of relief unlike any other.

That Jared is up and about. Functioning.

It’s such a different rush, different relief, to get to hold him. As if Jensen is not alone. As if Jensen is—in some obscure way (probably)—safe.

There’s these two sides he feels for Jared. They do meet somewhere in the middle, where Jensen can be clean and respectful, where he’s a caretaker, where neither of them said the L word out loud: dishing out food, helping with homework, listening to woes and worries. Peeling hairs out of eyes, pulling covers over a shoulder, making coffee for two in the mornings.

Jared is Jared in the hall, with his friends, discussing and plotting whichever teenage dream plans Jensen lacks the youth to be passionate about anymore.

Jared is Jared in Jensen’s garden, or bathroom, or bedroom, playing wife and girlfriend and grown-up all at once, slowly accepting that porn isn’t reality but god is it a nice dream every now and then, just come back to something soft and warm-mouthed.

Jared is Jared, probably, at home with his parents, family, siblings, arguing with his brother and big-brothering his little sister, taking out trash, studying his second-last year of high school material.

To think either of them belongs to the other seems absurd. There’s no one else, though. Some friends started voicing their worries: is Jensen okay, is he still broken over the Danni issue, because Jensen is someone who needs another someone, someone to look after and be strong for, and they have no idea, they don’t.

How childish is it to be happy with what he has?

~

Up to here, Jared’s persistence didn’t get them any farther. Call Jensen a hypocrite, but he’s mourning about as much as kitten.

Jared’s been voicing wishes ever since, even prior to Jensen giving his final okay to go all the way. Has been whisper-sweating words into Jensen’s neck whilst grinding them together. Drove Jensen halfway out of his skin and back but every goddamn time something somehow ended up stopping them, postponing It.

He gets Jared off on every opportunity he can, but it’s never enough. An endless well, and Jensen contemplates he might drown here soon.

It’s been a taboo ever since he kissed this kid on the mouth for the first time, but now it’s not far from reach, and it feels—okay? Like the world won’t end if they do It. Like Jensen won’t combust in flames during or after. Like they’ll be, in fact, okay.

He can’t possibly tell Jared about these things, these thoughts. He’s the responsible one. He should be the one in control. The cool to Jared’s heat, smothering just enough to stop a potential fire.

But there’s kitten, hollowing him out, breaking him down with every shared secret, every unthinking sentence. Rubbing Jensen’s body just right, like she’s got a manual to it, like Jensen’s all hers to have and God, he wants that, he does.

Sweetest when lying down, letting her have her fill. Pushing her hard-warm hands over him, rutting against his cock or belly. Smoothed limbs and hitched breath and dreaming out loud how It’ll be, how she wants It, I love you so much, you can have whatever you want, Mister, you’re so hard, I can feel you, you want It too, tell me you want me.

There’s either too much or too little time, or Jared complains about belly aches or digestive complications, so much stress lately and yeah, Jensen sympathizes. He’s so nervous he’s surprised he’s waking up in the mornings anymore.

Jared, despite his own words, is scared. That It won’t be to Jensen’s likings, that he’ll not perform as promised. He doesn’t have to say that. Jensen’s been there.

And Jensen does not tire of telling him that, saying, “We’ll take it slow,” and promise how, “We can stop and change anything at anytime.” Pampers and sweet-talks with his dick so frustrated it’s close to making him cry being confronted with the treat in question right in front of it, playing him so out-of-tune. So fickle, his baby, calling for stops now abruptly and halfway-there, suddenly in tears or withdrawn and Jensen is no animal, he’d never.

So, Jensen, as he looks up from the current stack of papers in his fresh sophomore class room, left behind and it’s late summer, apple blossoms long gone and ripening into fruits on trees not far from the window, and there’s Jared, who’s in ridiculous layers of tulle and boy-sneakers and fearlessness, and Jensen, just.

“What’re you doin’?”

Jared leans his back up against the door so it clicks closed, sound like a falling guillotine.

Jared repeats, “What’re you doin’, huh?” and Jensen’s forgotten absolutely everything he’s ever done.

Jensen puts his pen down, runs hands over his face, notices the sudden sweat. Says, “Hey,” and that’s all the cue Jared’s ever needed to waddle over to him. Little lost duck.

Hand reaching out for Jared’s, but Jensen’s being left alone, and feels teary.

“What’re you still doin’ here, hm?”

“I asked first.”

“I’m working,” croaks Jensen in half-laughed desperation, and close-up now catches glimpse of sheer stockings, the low-cut V peppered with sequins and he did _not_ buy this one. “What’re you wearing. Jesus.”

“Marsha got into the theatre club, so. Props.”

“Jesus.”

“You like it?”

Jensen has to close his eyes before they learn to see him from the outside; nods, hard, hands and lips slippery and he says, “We shouldn’t, not, not at school. Jesus. Jesus.”

Jared says nothing, takes a few steps back until he can support his hands on a desk behind him, front row. Leans back, a little, so his hips push out, insatiable dick probably candy-wet underneath all the creme frills, and Jensen shudders a sound.

“There’s nobody around,” confides kitten, “I checked.”

Luxury of three-four-five deep breaths, sour and ugly, panic and worry but so so much that he wants.

Until Jensen gets up to lock the door, Jared hasn’t been flushing this pink.

Jensen doesn’t look at him as he closes in, can’t stand the view, not right now, just hears those quietly gasped _ohs_ , chanted like Jensen’s name, wobbly mouth falling right open for a tongue and kisses and it’s so so easy to guide him belly-down, over the tiny table.

A quickly frantic shuffle to get to skin, digging through so so much tulle, and Jared doesn’t interfere with Jensen’s strangled curse word when he finds what he stupidly didn’t expect, ever, is too busy not shaking apart as it is.

“Did anyone see you like this?”

Jared shakes his sweaty head, curls his ass up-out for Jensen to pet his slick-bare gash more, deeper, trip his fingers over the plug nestled in the darling middle and yeah Jensen bought _that_.

Jensen breathes, “Y’gonna kill me,” and Jared beds his cheek onto the tabletop in response. Hitched-up naked shoulders, one spaghetti-strap sliding down and away, offering a fresh sunburn, a hickey from one of his girlfriends that Jensen knows has nothing to do with what he does to Jared’s inner thighs when nobody’s looking.

Jensen has to come up for air, feels so huge, so predatory over the splayed open body that’s offering itself up. Jared’s on his tip-toes, ass so high all Jensen’d have to do is slide his dick out and then in, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.

“Please. Please.”

Trippy-trip of feet, more balance, tighter together, tailbone tilted even more, hot-pink crystal cluster catching light like that asshole is magical and sacred and yeah, you can have it.

“Mr. Ackles, now, please. I want it. No one’s gonna know, I promise. I’ll never tell a soul. Just—please.”

Jared’s body shudders with that sigh cued on Jensen sliding the zipper of his pants down. Has a lonely tear in those lashes, blinking up at Jensen over his shoulder, looks so fucking young and breakable Jensen’s hand almost stops in the reach-around to this wallet, the lil foil packages he’s carried for weeks.

(Thought it would happen in their upcoming beach vacation, the motel there, or in the car, on the way. Thought he’d stop in the middle of a poppy field or something, prop the boy up in all that red and do _this_.)

“I love you so much. Jared. You hear me?”

Jared tries really hard now not to break into tears, nods.

“If it hurts, you gotta tell me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yes. I love you too, Mr. Ackles.”

Jensen drapes low while he slides on the condom one-handed, the other arm his support so he can hold himself over her, can kiss her and lick at the roof of her mouth. He wants her to feel his heart stutter when he tugs at the plug, can feel his breath on the realization of just how _soft_ she is, how she’s made of butter and warmth and he’s nudged the very tip of his cock inside before he’s ready himself.

Jensen hears himself whisper, “I love you, I love you,” and he hears the birds in the trees, faint cicadas and the football team hollering from across the yard; someone aced something and Jensen puts one hand to Jared’s sequined ribcage.

The push in is so easy, so painless that it rips some weak part of Jensen to shreds, because he’s done this. He’s made this.

Jared is endless. One long, perfect line, custom-cut, custom-fit, and the first breath he takes with Jensen’s dick in him stirs the two of them so tight Jensen’s mouth twists.

Slide of shiver-hand from ribs to flank to belly, hips, holding on there, helping to step feet out some more, then pull him back, pack some more inches home, and Jared’s breath stumbles.

“Oh, oh—”

“Easy, wait—”

“I’m, I’m—”

Jared bucks up and slams them together, and Jensen’s body folds in half without his say-so.

Jared whines, then, shooting with all of his body tense and quaking, with Jensen rooted so deep he can feel everything, loses sight and hearing for a second or five and just holds on, clasps one hand over Jared’s and Jared grasps back with more strength than either of them anticipated.

Aborted dry-humps back-up, uneven like Jared’s voice that sobs, “Do it, do it, fuck me, fuck me,” and Jensen’s so shaken that for a second he doesn’t know if he can.

Slow-grind, Jared still clinging/shuddering and there’s nowhere to go, really, Venus flytrap strangling Jensen dick-first, and he’s not crying, that’s sweat.

Jensen can’t hold out much longer than what it takes to actually snap his hips once; probably the skin-skin smack that undoes him, the babygirl-gasp it knocks out of Jared.

It’s whole-body and nothing he could have steeled himself for.

Jensen comes with his heels lifting, toes curling in too-warm leather slippers, forgetting everything and even the fact of being double the weight of what he’s crushing underneath himself, weak little bug still wriggling on his dick in confusion and Jensen actually has to call for him to stop, hold still, oh my God, oh fuck.

Jared doesn’t scold but studies, closely, over his shoulder, still out of breath and Jensen notices he’s getting his knuckles rubbed by something pink-glittered. Blinks, lost, slowly coming down and not ready at all to hit rock bottom of reality yet. Maybe he’s squinting weird or Jared just knows what’s going on in his head, maybe even feels the same, because he says, “Stay in me,” doesn’t add ’please’ or any other play-words because they both need this.

Slow-kissing, no words. The drag-out is unglamorous and last-minute, slow despite Jared not complaining at all about discomfort or pain or any of the things Jensen just inflicted.

Jared’s asshole is love-sigh open, too violated to even attempt to close just yet, and Jensen starts to cry because he doesn’t have any idea what to do with the used condom.

~

After his first time, Jensen couldn’t exactly look his then-girlfriend in the eye. Things had gone weird and embarrassing and he hadn’t meant to.

Jared doesn’t seem to be bothered. Jensen isn’t sure if that’s good or bad.

What’s unquestionably good is that Jared’s neither scared nor prohibited; that he’s not changed, period, that Jensen didn’t break him. (At least not in a newer, more devastating way than what he’s already done.)

Jensen doesn’t have to ask if it’s okay, and Jared doesn’t have to ask if they can.

Quiet kisses from the doorway on, still-tender on Jensen’s side and it’s Friday, Jared can’t spend the night because there’s a family gathering of some sort his parents want him to be present at tomorrow and Sunday, too, and all Jensen can think about is how much he forgot about what it’s like to be in love.

An even ratio of getting pushed and doing the pulling, of getting undressed and peeling at waistbands, un-lace size eight sneakers.

They still haven’t spoken a word by the time Jensen’s pressing dick and tongue into respectable ends, has teen-knees in his hands and flutter-fingers tickling up his ribs; like nothing ever was not-this. Stutter of two heartbeats, faster than anyone would like, but Jensen can’t feel that when he’s looking at Jared, when he’s invading what he’s irrevocably made his.

Jared’s looking right back, eyes half-hooded and dreamy, lips apart just so.

It’s Jensen who whispers, “I love you,” and Jared who beds himself in it.

It hurts. It hurts.

~

“Does it feel like a girl’s?”

Jensen laughs so he doesn’t cry. “Yeah. Yeah, pretty much.”

Jared rolls over some more, big-blinking little spoon. “Did you do a lot of anal before? With them?”

“Not as much, no.” Jensen’s thumb swipes an astray hair out of Jared’s forehead. “Never was with anyone as into it as you.”

“But do you like it?”

“Of course.”

“Do you like it as much as pussy?”

Jensen blinks, still smiling. “Baby.”

“Well, _do_ you?”

“I love you. I love sleeping with you. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to compare this here to _any_ thing.”

Open-eyed kiss to that hair; the best to watch the doubt fall away from kitten’s face, even if only bit by little bit.

~

Her skin is still cool from the shower, slightly damp (Jensen couldn’t wait). A tired mouth, more tired eyes—no, relaxed.

Jensen shifts a little deeper.

“Mh.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep going.”

Fingertips, then entire hands over Jensen’s. Fluttering where he’s holding that small span of hips, tight, so it won’t slip away. Fluffed the pillow before he pushed it under her butt.

Her head droops to the side with a sleepy sigh. She’s still hard, but Jensen is the one with his heart in his mouth.

“Can I?”

She smiles and, “Yeah,” keeps a soft grip on his hands and he wonders if she can see him through her lashes.

Jensen rolls his hips. She squirms into it, wobbly on the pillow.

Jensen can feel everything.

Every clench. Every tremor. Every breath.

He runs his hands up her sides, ribs. Spans them over that little belly. Tumbles, stays here. Bows his head, lips parting in wonder.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer. He takes her hand, cups it under his own. He barely has to press down.

He can feel her surprise.

She gasps, “Oh,” and Jensen can _feel_ that, presses her palm down harder and Jensen can _feel_ that.

Jensen is about to cry. “How can you still be so small?”

“I’m sorry.” She squirms again, with more intent now. “I’m sorry. You wanna stop?”

Jensen shakes his head, sniffles. Rocks up into her, all the way now and she’s so soft, she’s warm and gentle and her hands are heating up fast, just like her face; always so fast with that blood rush.

She keeps looking into his eyes as he builds up a steady (but slow) rhythm. She’s ragdoll-limp but for her hands; one on top of Jensen’s again. Follows when he steadies her hips once more. He can pull her back onto himself without much effort at all.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“You can go faster.”

“Can we do it like this? For now?”

“Okay.” She sighs it (not annoyed but contended, treasured). Her legs fall more open, as if Jensen just cut another set of her strings.

She lets him.

~

“Lookin’ good.”

Jensen eye-rolls at the water cooler, keeps his arms crossed. “Thanks. Leyla.”

She’s pushing into his field of vision so he can watch her ogling him, unabashedly, like kitten does and Jensen doesn’t appreciate it. Not a bit.

“Have you been working out or something?”

He just wants his liquid life support, thanks. “Not really, no.”

“But you’re glowing! Wait, did you find yourself a girlfriend?”

“No. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

“Jensen, you can’t do that to me, to all of us! Hey! Wait!”

Jensen rushes out of the kitchen, passes endless students and absolutely not-intentionally Jared’s locker. Spots him, right there, laughing and happy and not seeing Jensen at all.

That Nathan kid’s got an arm around kitten’s hip, fingers spanned where Jensen had peppered kisses half a week before.

Jensen just-so doesn’t run coffee-first into the cheerleaders.

~

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

Jared pouts into his smirk. Jensen can’t stop staring where his top is cut way too low in the front. “Uh-huh. ‘Or something’.”

“What? I was just askin’.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jared’s kisses taste like toffee flavored ice cream and he climbs into Jensen’s lap; Jensen doesn’t have to ask for either.

Bare legs—Jensen slips his hand from the knees upwards, dips under dress-hem straight to ass, cups and pulls and she’s not bare underneath. Jensen kisses her mouth and tugs her panties out of the way with one finger, rubs over her hole with another. Jared squirms in his lap, tits pressed up against Jensen’s, dick smothered between them but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Jensen finds the decency to turn on the TV in front of them. Jared laughs for that, tosses his hair and bites his lip. Lays his head onto Jensen’s shoulder when Jensen begins to finger him. Blind fumble for the lube between the sofa pillows; kiss behind her ear. Somewhere, someone started a fire in a wildlife park.

“Ah—”

She’s tight today. “Relax.”

“Mh.” Pout, weak arms. Eyes closed, forehead in creases.

Jensen, throbbing with horror over how much he needs this, slips the condom on, strokes once before he lines up. One hand on her hip, he’s urging her to squat down on it.

She’s resistant. Jared hisses.

“Easy.”

“Ah…”

Jensen pulls until the head is in. Baby-twitches to get deeper, but. It just won’t.

Jared sobs, “Mr. Ackles,” and Jensen spends all his air in one huff, feels the sweat on his upper lip.

Backpedaling, big time.

“Okay, wait. Stop.”

He squeezes her to his chest, tiny bare ass displayed for the TV lights. His dick, still in latex and The Mood, twitches uselessly against the inside of her thigh.

“I’m sorry,” she tries, but he assures her immediately that it’s okay. It is. That bodies aren’t machines, et cetera, et cetera. Tissue, condom off. Still hard, Jensen tucks himself back into his jeans. He pulls her back onto his lap so they can choose and watch a movie.

Jared has been doing that thing for as long as Jensen can remember. It can’t be unintended—that persistent rocking in Jensen’s lap, all the while acting like he isn’t. Like he can’t feel Jensen’s dick poking at his ass.

Jensen slicked through his underwear by the time Jared turns to look over his shoulder, bitten mouth and careful, “Can we try again?”

God, yeah, they can.

Jensen has him facing the TV, all weight on his hands on Jensen’s thighs, peachy-bony boy-ass balanced in one and then two hands as soon as Jensen’s got another condom, has his dick pointing where he needs it to be.

He can see the knob of Jared’s tailbone, and pulls.

Jared is the kind of tight that’s just as worrisome as it is awesome (perfect, blinding), and he’s quivering and there’s a gasp but Jensen slides just about halfway in before there’s an unmistakable stop.

Jared whimpers as he rocks Jensen deeper into his guts, and Jensen rubs the small of his back with one hand.

The dress keeps slipping down. Jared rucks it up under his armpits before even that doesn’t work anymore. Jensen feels his dick digging odd-angled as Jared sits back, trembles for what must be pain but shucks his dress off as fast as he can, regains his balance on both hands, and Jensen thinks he is gonna blow in another few seconds.

He has her by the waist, both hands, soft skin shifting. She’s moaning weird.

Lick of lips, “Is that good for you?”

Jared mumbles something that’s neither a yes nor no.

Jensen keeps fucking him.

Jensen wraps his hand around Jared’s dick when he’s just about to come, thrusts up in addition to pulling her down; she’s louder but her insides milk him just right, almost-closed flutter and Jensen loses it.

It’s an afterthought that he just jerked Jared off over the carpet.

“I liked that,” admits kitten, shimmying Jared’s shorts back up her by now cleaned-up ass, and Jensen stares until it’s hidden once more.

The tips of her ears are still flushed pink. Always with the blood rush.

Jensen’s eyes follow the line of Jared’s spine. “You sure you can’t spend the night?”

“I’m with the guys tomorrow. Sorry. We’ve been planning it for ages; I really can’t ditch them. Sorry.”

Jensen hums.

~

He could jerk off, or something.

Or something.

Like, what? He still hasn’t made a single friend. Could call Mackenzie, ask about the new baby. But even that can only last so long, and it’s only two pm on a Saturday which’ll be followed by a Sunday, until Jensen has a life again.

While Jared’s out there, somewhere, with his friends. Having fun, without Jensen. With Nathan, too, even though Jared insists he’s got himself a boyfriend now, but...hell. They’re kids. Jensen’s been a kid, once.

Jensen stares at the TV until it gets boring, then has a few drinks until he gets hungry. Some food, scraps of this and that, but he doesn’t feel like ordering something, let alone cooking.

The princess room smells like jasmine oil, sweet and heavy. Good at covering all that silicone and lube and outsides-insides. Jensen flops down on the bed that never creaks, that doesn’t smell like Jared because Jensen was stupid enough to change the sheets after he left, last time.

This is stupid. He is stupid. It didn’t used to be like this. Didn’t use to affect him. Jensen used to be independent, he remembers, before meeting Jared and even some months into being with him. Was able to spend a goddamn weekend by himself and enjoy it (hear ye, hear ye!).

All they do is have sex nowadays anyway. What the hell. Jensen, you’re the worst.

He palms himself over his sweatpants for comfort, blinks around the room. Pieces of kitten everywhere—jewelry forgotten-scattered over the vanity. A dress Jensen had to hand-clean, hung to dry outside of the closet. Jensen clears the vanity, just to busy himself. Puts away the three nail polishes (Jared had eventually decided for Chastity), gets stuck with the highlight powder, tries to remember if he bought it or if Jared brought it. (It’s a weird kind of stomach-ache, knowing people other than himself are getting Jared these kind of presents now.)

Jensen’s bedroom is as empty as ever. The scent of jasmine has carried up to here, a whisper of it clinging to the sheets, to the knob of the drawer Jensen keeps lube and condoms in.

Jensen lies on his bed, curled up on his side. Closes his eyes in the hopes of reeling in sleep, but the sun is still up, and Jared’s not his until ‘sometime next week should work, Mr. Ackles’.

He’s always been like this, with relationships. Always keeping his careful distance, because shit, this stuff, right here, this helplessness and all that whining, it’s disgusting and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be this way in his own as well as his partner’s interest, because if Jensen Ackles can do one thing, it is being unnecessarily butt-hurt.

It takes him another twenty-ish minutes to completely sulk-drown his brain and swipe his phone alive.

Jensen is thirty-seven and it’s been three years since he’s felt anywhere close to desperation, four since he’s written his last ’Miss you’ text.

He’s panic and heart-throb and he reads the few letters over and over until he decides he cannot ever send them.

He does anyway. Immediately shuts down the screen, slaps the phone into a nearby pillow. Curls tighter. Groans.

Feels like hours until there’s that soft buzz, even though the app says it’s been only eight minutes.

_miss you too  
are you ok?_

Jensen’s heart does these ugly too-fast somersaults he hates so much. He’s gonna be sick.

_yeah  
you guys having fun?_

Jared sends a picture with the entire group, two girls hanging off of him. He’s got his hair tied up, cap on his head against the merciless sun. Except for the dramatically short jean shorts, he looks just like any other boy Jensen could think of, sees at school every day.

_yeah! it’s so cool here!  
I ate like ten corn dogs_

_wow  
don’t puke_

Nothing else. The sun is still up. Jensen wonders if there’s a curfew. If one of the parents is picking all of them up in a bus, a minivan. If someone can look at Jared and not see what he’s doing, how he’s moving; if someone can sense what’s going on in the many hours he’s spending ’tutoring’ or ’getting tutored’.

Eating corn dogs. Riding water slides. Taking goofy pictures with friends.

He’s just a kid. Just a kid.

While Jensen’s over here, with his dick hard, because he knows how Jared’s tits feel in his mouth. Knows what shade of rose-brown-nude spans across the skin from the tip to his cock down to the furl of his asshole, and knows how it all looks up-close and how it tastes.

Jared is out there in the world and all Jensen can think is that nobody should buy Jared any corn dog, ever.

Jensen is fucking teary-eyed.

_when will you be home?_

After no reply for what now actually is an hour and a half (and Jensen has died a few times in that span of time, has another few drinks in that span of time), Jensen’s phone is buzzing.

Like, incoming call buzzing.

“H’llo?”

“ _Hey,”_ hushes Jared, whisper-quiet and Jensen can hear children laugh in the background, can hear mamas pushing buggies over gravel, and he’s choked up all anew. _“Sorry, we were, uhm—”_

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re busy, I shouldn’t have.” (God, Jensen hopes Jared can’t hear the booze on him.) “How’re you? Sun-struck yet?”

And Jared says, _“We’re about to head home, actually,”_ like Jensen’s not having a stroke, like that baby-breathlessness of voice doesn’t give him aneurysms. _“Do you, uh, should I...?”_

Jensen blinks away sweat. “You wanna come over?”

Conglomerate of screams. Jared must be close to a ride. Sounds so hopeful and God Jensen hopes his friends are just a stone’s throw away or wishes Jared sneaked off as subtle as ever and nobody knows.

Jared teases, _“You want me to?”_ and Jensen’s barely heard the question before he blabbers, “God, please. Yeah.”

“ _How much do you miss me?”_

Jensen tips his head back so his lungs have more room, closes his eyes, tries not to sob into the goddamn phone. Feels ugly saying, “Need you,” like a predator for real and manipulative and God yeah that’s him that’s always been him from the very start, and who is he to fool (what kinda game is he even trying to pretend to be playing). “Come over? Please?”

“ _Hm. I’ll figure something out.”_

Jensen smiles, taken care of so good. Thank God Jared’s universe is made of Jensen. “That’s my girl.”

Jared doesn’t reply directly, but Jensen knows he’s beaming right now. Maybe flushing, pretty dick threatening to twitch because all Jensen has to do is drawl in porn and kitten is at his feet, purring.

She says, _“Another two hours or so, okay?”_ and it sounds like a promise to Jensen and he swallows it dearly, croons, “Yeah. You sure it’s okay?”

“ _They’ll live. I wanna see you.”_

“Mmh. Can you stay the night?”

“ _That’s the plan.”_

Chuckle. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Jared cheshire-flirts, _“I can’t help it,”_ and Jensen can’t do much but believe with everything he has.

~

“Are you drunk?”

“Just a little. Hey.” Jared’s mouth tastes like vanilla coke. Jensen breathes deep, through his nose. “Hey, baby. Oh, God, you’re warm.”

“Got here as fast as I could,” and yeah, fuck, Jensen’s hands are slipping in all that bike-sweat.

There’s twig-arms around Jensen’s neck and he feels twice as fucked up, all at once. Ashamed as hell because Jared must be smelling the alcohol on him, taste it even, and he’s looking big-eyed and hesitant, bird-chest ebbing with Jensen-love.

Jensen’s never vowed to be any kind of role model.

“Do you wanna shower,” croaks Jensen. “I could use one.”

“Yeah.” Funky one-sided smirk, longing kiss. “Yeah, you kinda reek.”

Jensen uses too much soap and too little time. Has been hard before Jared’s shimmied his nothing-ass out of his little-sister-shorts, and Jared smells like fun, and sugar, and sunscreen.

Jared kisses open-mouthed, all hands. Bucks up-away into touches, like a game of cat and mouse, and pleasure-rolls his eyes when being crowded against tiles, gets his beautiful porn-ish foot up on the bathtub’s rim so Jensen can feel him up that much more generously.

“Can we do it without?”

“Hm?” (Jensen’s two-fingers-in deaf. Feels his dick throbbing all the way down to his toes.)

“Without a condom, I mean. This time. Maybe?”

Slip-slide hands clinging to Jensen’s shoulders, they’re eye-to-eye and Jared’s never done growing. Half-blinks and kisses and sighs so flushed and darling and quiet, because he’s cruel in his very own way, cheats his way through Jensen’s restrictions like he has any right to do that.

“Yeah? Please?” Lip-suck kiss with Jensen tapping his happy place.

Jensen’s heard students beg prettier for upgrades on essays, or presentations. “God,” he moans, and everything hurts the sweetest.

Jared’s grappling for Jensen’s neck, fighting for balance and air laid out on his back so Jensen can spoil him best. Yelps pretty when Jensen’s raw dick slides up too soon too fast, crimps his thin ankles down into Jensen’s ass, and Jensen’s never loved anyone as much as this baby human being, ever.

“How’s that feel, huh? Like you wanted?”

She sobs, “Yes,” just-broken-in-tight and watery around the edges, jelly-shake of limbs even though Jensen’s not moving at all (he thinks). Quick succession of blinks, cherry-mouth popped open and spit-smeared easy enough (Jensen just wants to please).

Jared groans all the way down Jensen’s throat on being laid-down over, crushed and held and filled. Holds on like it still isn’t enough. Like he needs Jensen to crawl all the way inside, find the twisted not-so-twisted trails all the way into his too-big heart.

Kitten doesn’t ask for anything despite her breath getting remarkably thinner, both getting limited with Jensen purring chest-to-chest, with Jensen grinding their mismatched bodies together.

Jensen hasn’t fucked anyone bare since ninety-seven.

“Uh, uh, uh—”

“Feel so much of you, Jay. Feel like a dream.”

“Don’t pull out. Don’t.”

Jensen laughs, “Can’t,” and flexes his ass with the following harsh thrust just so Jared becomes maybe-aware of how locked he’s got him.

Jared’s red-headed, wet strands of hair all anew. Thin brows furrowed and the pink of his mouth is barely Jensen’s teeth’s fault. Jensen rearranges his weight so Jared’s tits can duck and slam up again, so Jensen can kiss with his head hung low, can try to balance on one arm and get the other between them, rub at pebbled nipples and get a fresh line of shivers as a reward.

“You’re so wet,” slurs kitten between lips and teeth, purrs it right onto Jensen’s tongue, makes him ache. “Feel it. You’re gonna get me so full.”

“Jesus. Jesus.”

Jensen’s knees are skidding. He anchors with all coordination he has left and in the heat of the moment forgets about everything making the body underneath him so vulnerable (weight and use and not-use), slops his cock fast and deep, chasing friction and softness and kitten’s making the most beautiful sounds, choked-off gasps and whines and the faster he slaps them together the louder she’s getting.

There’s an odd resistance making it hard to crush his chest down once more but Jensen curls anyway, hides in too-long hair and pillow and nape and drools his heart-ache in there, all the time aware of how right she was, how much he’s pumping into her lithe squeezing ass.

Back in his body and half-mind, Jensen realizes his hips are still slow-circling, and that Jared’s heels aren’t digging into his kidneys anymore. That Jared’s petting his hair and ears and cheeks with his own knees practically up his ears, because Jensen’s bent him in the middle, like a glow stick.

“Holy shit.”

Barely-audible, “Don’t say that,” because there’s no way she’s been getting any air for Jesus fuck Jensen doesn’t even know how long, and nobody could be offended by curses after getting reamed like that but Jared, really, and Jensen’s love-sick all over again.

She gasps, “Don’t,” when he’s slowly tipping his weight, tries to find his legs.

“You gotta breathe, I’m crushing you.”

“No, no. Jus’. Stay. I wanna...”

Jared doesn’t end the sentence, instead blindly searches for Jensen’s mouth, lips apart, whole body a pink quiver and too young to be bared like that.

Jensen promises, “Okay,” but does get his knees under Jared’s ass to at least support the fold, and Jared doesn’t object, keeps his arms and legs wrapped tight, drippy face tucked into Jensen’s neck, now.

Jensen can feel his load leak-running down his balls, his legs.

Thinks: this is yours. You idiot.

Sleep happens. Jensen wakes to bed-bugged doll eyes, still middle of the night, blinking all pretty while he’s being asked if it’s okay if, “I suck your dick?”

And it is. It is. Jensen spreads his legs, watches her. She’s got her ass tipped up and feels clean, lubed.

“Did you play with this?”

“Didn’t wanna wake you.”

“Should’ve.”

He gets up on one elbow so he can twist his knuckles in better. Lazy-stares, hooded and throbbing all over, tongue-stroked cock already jealous of fingers, like this is a fucking competition.

“Fuck. It’s so soft.”

Jared hums, one darling hand plucking at Jensen’s sac while cockhead kisses tonsils, and he chokes a bit, twists his head and throat to fit more of Jensen in, eyes closed in bliss, and Jensen never ever wants anyone to see him. Never wants anyone to do the things he’s done, is doing, to Jared Tristan.

“Did I do that?” he asks, love-soft and hurting, needs the answer like he needs air, with his fingers pumping sweet.

Jared slurps off and up, taps Jensen’s cock against his yet-stubble-free cheek, right where Jensen’s putting dimples all the time. (Jensen, Jensen, only Jensen.)

Kitten’s smile-sighing, “Hmyeah,” and Jensen, Jensen, he might be okay with hurting like that.

**Author's Note:**

> PS: [A lil something](http://hellhoundsprey.tumblr.com/post/149806193804/you-have-hopes-and-you-have-dreams-but-lets-face) I wrote an almost-year ago and that now finally fits in.  
> PPS: No the verse is not done yet, there's two more parts to go, you may chill your horses.


End file.
